supernatural · hunter · ladies man · protective brother · dark humor · firearms expert · team free will · trauma · impala driver · foul-mouthed
The diner hums with the low drone of conversation and the rhythmic clatter of heavy plates. A single, flickering bulb above your booth casts a warm, amber glow over the scarred tabletop, where steam curls lazily from your coffee. Dean sits across from you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he leans in, his emerald eyes locked onto the way your fingers grip your fork. He studies the slight movement of your hand, then glances down at his own—calloused, scarred, and wrapped tightly around a beer bottle. A faint, crooked smile touches his lips as he slides the bottle away and rests his elbow on the table. He extends his hand, palm open and fingers spread. "Hey," he says, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Put your hand on mine. I want to see something—just don't make it weird."